You Got It
by Miss Poison Pen
Summary: Peggy clutched at her head and tried to will the sounds of gunfire and crashing planes and radio static and STEVE to stop.


When Peggy entered the L&amp;L for her lunch hour, she spied Angie right away. Said waitress was busy setting a fresh pot of coffee to brew, and Peggy tamped down the fluttering in her chest when the woman caught sight of her. They smiled at one another, Angie's chestnut curls bouncing as she straightened and grabbed her notepad.

"I'll have your coffee in a jiff, English," Angie said as Peggy slid onto one of the barstools at the counter.

"Take your time."

While Angie waited for the fresh pot of coffee, she took Peggy's order and queued it for the cook. Peggy contented herself with watching the young woman as she whirled from task to task behind the counter, but felt a scowl overtaking her features before she fully realized why.

"_Oh, Cap. Be careful! I just don't know what I would do if anything happened to you!_"

Peggy suppressed a groan as she felt a sort of tug in her mind, and glared at the radio as if she could make it explode through sheer force of will. Thankfully, Angie caught her eye and whipped around to change it.

"Sorry," Angie apologized. "I didn't realize that was on."

"I'm listenin' to that, Martinelli!" came the growl from the kitchen before Peggy could thank her friend. "Change it back!"

Angie stamped her foot, as if the man could see her. "No way, Marco! We got a customer who hates that stuff!"

"Then they ain't gotta listen! I'm listenin'!"

"I'm giving good customer service, here!" Angie tried, a pleading note in her voice.

"I don't give a hoot 'n' a holler!"

"Quit trying to make me lose out of tips!"

"If you wanna see a dime o' pay _beyond_ tips, you better change it back! Capisce?"

Peggy saw Angie turn to her, looking for direction. Oh, if only she could afford to pay Angie's lost wages, she would tell the man where he could stuff that damnable show. She couldn't, as it were, and so waved Angie on with a defeated sigh.

"I'm sorry."

Peggy plastered a soft smile to her face. "There's nothing for you to be sorry for. I'll deal with it."

"But I _know_ it bothers you."

"I'll just ignore it," Peggy assured her. Easier said than done, unfortunately.

The coffee pot stopped gurgling and Angie reached for it to pour Peggy a fresh cup. "Pipin' hot, English."

"Thank you."

From there, they fell into their usual routine. Angie asked about the boys at the phone company and Peggy related the complaints about her day. Peggy asked after Angie and the waitress bemoaned having to work with a fool like Marco.

And the tug was ever-present in Peggy's mind, a pressure that seemed to grow more intense as more time passed.

Peggy was half way through her meal when Angie had to help a customer for a moment. Without the distraction of Angie's effervescent personality, Peggy felt herself assaulted by the radio show.

"…_Plane was going down over the Sea of Japan!_"

Her mind tugged and she felt a cold sweat on the back of her neck.

"_Betty…I'm afraid this is the end._"

"_**I gotta put her in the water…**_**"**

Her chest squeezed and she fought to breathe.

"_Oh, Cap! There will never be another man like you! I love you, Captain America!_"

"_**Peggy…this is my choice.**_**"**

A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

"_But Betty Carver, face wet with loving tears, hears only static._"

_**And suddenly she was sitting in the air control tower of the HYDRA base. She could feel the tears wet on her cheeks. She could hear the whine of failing engines in a nosedive over the radio. **_

"Peggy?"

"I'm here…" she whispered

"_**I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance…**_**"**

Then, just as suddenly, she was sitting on the barstool of the L&amp;L, Angie touching her hand and asking "You okay, English?"

Peggy took stock of herself. She was shaking, she realized, and her eyes stung with the tears that fell from them.

"_**You know, I still don't know how to dance**_**."**

Steve's voice rang loud and clear in her mind.

All at once, Peggy pushed away from Angie, a panic rising up within her.

"_**We'll have the band play something slow…**_**"**

She forcibly released something she was holding in her right hand—a fork, bent from being held too tightly—as she stumbled off the barstool and towards the door. "I need to go!" she choked out.

"Wait!" she heard Angie yell. A clatter and a curse followed. "English, wait!"

Peggy was through the revolving door in the next moment.

She needed air!

She needed to breathe!

_**Peggy was in the HYDRA facility, tear tracks on her cheeks and a gun in her hand.**_

Peggy reached for a gun that hadn't dangled from her shoulder in over six months.

_**She spotted a group of HYDRA agent down the hall. She gunned them down.**_

A man bumped her in the shoulder. Her first instinct was to shoot him. She had no gun, she realized in a panic, right before she recognized his clothing as a suit and fedora instead of tactical gear and a helmet.

_**As the last man fell, Peggy strode through the mist of gun smoke and blood that drifted through the air. She breathed in the scent, a strange sort of vicious contentment falling over her.**_

Peggy could suddenly taste the same coppery tang of blood and smoke, and the sensation dropped her to her knees.

"_**A week," she had said. "Next Saturday at the Stork Club. Don't you dare be late! Understood?"**_

"_**You got it…"**_

She clutched at her head and tried to will the sounds of gunfire and crashing planes and radio static and _Steve_ to stop.

_**Peggy marched through the facility, grip tight on the rifle she carried.**_

_**She relished the scent of gun smoke after each kill.**_

_**She wished killing these bastards would make it hurt a little less.**_

_**It didn't…**_

_**She heard the whine of plane engines again.**_

"_**I wouldn't want to step on your—**_**"**

Peggy felt herself hauled up from the ground and dragged somewhere quiet—somewhere away from the busy traffic of the street. She tried to fight. Her fist even connected with flesh right before a stinging retaliation met her cheek.

Then she was wrapped in warmth, a comforting weight across her back and shoulders.

_**Colonel Phillips grabbed her from behind. His arms were strong about her chest and her waist. She struggled against him, he held tighter, and another soldier took her rifle. Phillips yelled something then, but she couldn't hear it over the blood rushing in her ears.**_

_**Then the tears fell again.**_

When Peggy fully came back to herself, she was staring at blue.

She blinked.

The feeling of someone stroking her hair registered, as did the sound of someone humming.

She looked up. "Angie…" Her voice was hoarse, her throat dry and scratchy.

"Hey."

A bruise was forming on Angie's cheek, and Peggy vaguely realized that she must have hit her. She opened her mouth to apologize, but was shushed by Angie.

Then, Peggy tried to shift away from the younger woman, but Angie wouldn't have it. The hand that was stroking Peggy's hair rested steadily on her head and guided her back to Angie's shoulder.

Peggy couldn't find it in herself to fight.

"Where are we?" Peggy asked. The most she had gathered was that it was quiet, they were inside, and there were some crates they were propped against.

"Storage room." Angie had resumed running her fingers through Peggy's hair. "There's an alley door for deliveries and trash runs."

Peggy grunted softly to let Angie know she'd heard her.

A long moment passed before Angie asked, "Are you all right?"

Peggy clutched at the blue of Angie's uniform. "No," she whispered. Her voice broke and the tears threatened to fall again. "Just…let me stay like this for a bit?"

"You got it…"


End file.
